


Serena

by missfae (missreeree)



Series: Blair/Jim Chronicles [3]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: F/M, Implied Slash and Het Sex, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 19:06:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5427284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missreeree/pseuds/missfae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dead is Dead.... right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arrrgghhhh

**Author's Note:**

> When we left our heroes at the end of Saving the Day, Blair was being hugged by a nine-year old named Belinda. Who is she and what is she to Blair, this story will shed light on that.
> 
> This work has noted been beta'd. Additionally, I don't own the Sentinel or any of it's characters. They, and the show, are the property of Pet Fly Productions and Paramount Television Network.

“I'm pregnant."

 

Two words that changed my entire state of being. You see before you a lonely man trudging the streets of Cascade- a man resigned to his fate. Who am I, just a clown- a clown trapped by the mechanism of fate- "Owwww." The slap to the back of my head propelled me out of my musings.

 

"Stop!" At the stern tone, my bottom lip shot out as I peeked up through curls falling forward to cover my face.

 

"Serenaaaa..."I made sure to overemphasize rubbing the spot. "Wha-"

 

She wasn’t impressed. I beheld the 5'2" of deep dark chocolaty goodness glaring at me with hands firmly planted on hips. -

 

"You're doing it again."

 

"What am I doing?"

 

"The weird thing you do where you make your thoughts audible to the public. She scowled. "Who do you think you are Philip Marlowe ?"

 

I crossed my arms over my chest and slumped down in the booth. "I bet Marlowe's secretary never head slaps him."

 

She grinned and slipped into the seat across from me. "Good thing I ain't your secretary. Now..." She brushed imaginary crumbs off the front of her waitress' uniform. "What's got you so down in the dumps?"

 

Let’s pause this sterling example of friendship to make a couple of introductions. Okay, who am I? Beside being the aforementioned clown, I’m Blair Sandburg, Shaman Shamus and intrepid P.I., at least, that’s what my Yellow Pages ad states. My companion, is Serena the local waitress at my favorite diner located on the corner of Main St.and Vine. Um… we now return to our regularly scheduled program.

 

I attempted my patented send-them-scuttling-off-in-terror stare at her; Serena smiled at me and waited. Ah well...

 

"I told Jim I'd be amiable, to bonding with him."

 

She frowned. "Wait, you two aren’t bonded?"

 

I waved a hand. "We are, as sentinel and guide." I paused and she made a get-to-the-point motion. "I mean as mates."

 

“That’s great--” She took in my dour expression. “-isn’t it?”

 

I pulled a hand down my face. “Jim’s pregnant.”

 

“And now you’re running scared, aren’t you?”

 

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a gift for understatement that’s par to none.”

 

She shrugged. “Might be the same ones who told me you’re a dick.”

 

Well, at least I’ve graduated from ‘they’ to ‘the same ones’.

 

Serena looked at me for a moment, rose and entered the kitchen through the swinging doors. When she returned, she carried a tray with two cups of Java and two pieces of to-die-for peach pie. She took one of the cups of coffee and set the rest down in front of me.

 

“This is gonna be a two piece conversation.”

 

I grinned, grabbed a fork and dug in.

She tilted her hand back she and observed me from under her lashes; I know Serena and her various poses. “Lecture time, here I come.” I shoved another piece of pie in my mouth.

 

“Blair, honey, I’d never presume to tell you what to do-”

 

“Never stopped you before,” I thought I masked the statement around the forkful of pie in my mouth, but the narrowing of her eyes indicated otherwise.

 

“Blair Jacob Sandburg, for a genius, you sure can be dense.”

 

Pulling the pie closer, I folded my body over it as I focused all my mental capabilities on consuming the tasty morsel. Despite my best efforts, her words penetrated my defenses.

 

“Jim is crazy about you; he wants to give you a stable home, a child and will never cheat on you. So why are you hesitating?”

 

I kept my eyes on my plate. She reached her hand forward to snatch it away and I pulled it closer to me. She sighed.

 

“You, are a piece of work.”

 

At that point I employed a trick I’ve learned to use with Jim. I kept one-fourth of my mind on Serena – this allowed me to take in her words as they gently washed over me like the waves during a tsunami wash over a battered shore- and I allowed the other three-fourths to reminisce about the way we met…


	2. Dead is Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.

Dead…  
…is dead…  
Is dead…  
Is…  
Dead…

Instead of the basking in the pleasant afterglow of riding Simon’s big, black… horn, this notion scampered through my muddled brain. 

“Simon.” He reached over and pulled the limp noodle masquerading as my arm over his massive chest. There are no such thing as ghosts.

“So.” He adjusted my head to lay on his shoulder and stroked my hair. “What’s haunting my baby sister?” 

I blew out a breath; we needed to work on his idea of pillow talked. Lecture time.

Humans want to have faith that someone of magical, mystical powers can summon our great-aunt Mary or Uncle George to tell us where he or she hid the Will. Afterward, we kill each other for riches another earned. But it just ain’t so. Once we die our physical bodies are at the mercy of the mechanism of our death. We may go peacefully in bed or be a crushed, mangled mess on the freeway, our bodies stay here. But, our spirit and soul go to our much-deserved rewards.

Benevolent souls enter Nirvana, Heaven or a place of rest. Evil souls go to Hell, Hades or place of punishment. Take your pick. So, to whom, you may ask, are we asking these mystical question when one goes to a medium, psychic or a soothsayer? That’s easy. You’re talking to spirits and not just any spirit. You’re talking to the entities that love nothing more than to see your destruction.

Take it from me, being a mage is a deadly profession because we walk a fine line between controlling these spirits and being controlled and destroyed by them. Evil entities will grant our desires, but the price can jump and bite one in the ass. Many of my fellow practitioners died under mysterious circumstances; although, it wasn’t mysterious to those of use still shuffling this sod. Can the mystic contact good ones? You may ask and indeed, some of you will. Well… those spirits or angels (insert your word of choice) are under the purview of the deity you choose to believe or not believe exists. I don’t subscribe to any specific religion but I recognize intelligent design when slapped in the face with it. 

Back to the earlier topic, how do I know these are intelligent beings and not mindless forces? Merlin told me- yes THE Merlin- with whom I met several times. I’ll save those adventure for another day. Suffice it to say, he’s not the idiot Arthur assumed him to be, the King snorted as this remark. Had he informed all and sundry of his innate ability to control evil spirits, he’d be looking at his body before his head realized it was no longer attached. Much safer to say the forces were of nature.

At this point, I refuse to discuss the before deceased, now living King Arthur. We’ll save the information for another memoir. End of lecture.

Simon’s fingers played upon my naked flesh like a pianist caressing his keyboard as he repeated his question. “What’s haunting my baby sister?”

I hummed and snuggled closer. “A demon.” 

“What?” I rubbed my aching bum while struggling up from the floor.

“A demon, Simon.” Perching on the bed, I searched for my shorts. This wasn’t a discussion I wanted to hold in the buff.


End file.
